Landon woke early, nervous, though he couldn’t really say why. Words about Scarsdale’s toughness rang in his brain, but he really didn’t expect to get into the game unless they were way far ahead. Even then, he couldn’t be sure Coach Furster would play him. Because of his size, he knew the only position he could play on offense was right tackle. If Landon had to go against someone as big as himself (or even someone close), it was likely to end in Landon getting creamed.
He turned over the framed picture sitting on his dresser and saw himself with his family plummeting downward on the ride at Disney World. It stiffened his resolve. He knew he had to get out onto the field during a game, just to say he’d done it. It would make him feel like a real team member and not something less, which is what he couldn’t help feeling like now, no matter what Brett or Landon’s dad said.
At breakfast Landon could only stare at the stack of pancakes in front of him. He took two swigs of orange juice and nearly lost it.
His mom peered at him over a steaming mug of coffee. “Nervous?”
“It’s game day, Mom.” Landon excused himself and began getting his gear on.
Genevieve had practice, and they dropped her at the soccer field before circling the school and pulling into the parking lot above the football field. A concession trailer churned out smoke, and the smell of hot dogs was in the air, even though it wasn’t yet eleven o’clock. The stands were already half full of people. The sun shone and the baking grass smelled freshly cut.
“Go get ’em, big guy.” Landon’s dad slapped his shoulder pad.
“Good luck,” said his mother.
“Okay. See you.” Landon strapped on his helmet and took off at a jog down the hillside. He fell in with the rest of his team, full of doubt and uncertainty, but also a sliver of hope.
For the first time in Landon’s life, it was game day.